


convolution

by eyebot



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: I just want Miles to be happy, Miles Upshur Needs A Hug, Miles is trying, Nanotechnology, Phantom Limbs, Slice of Life, Slice of Life: Walrider Edition, Walrider Miles Upshur, but with the walrider, phantom pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyebot/pseuds/eyebot
Summary: Miles's relationship with the Walrider was complicated.
Relationships: Miles Upshur & The Walrider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 103





	convolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cells/gifts).

> so my bestie arc (cells) gave me this idea and uvu i had to write it
> 
> i still would die for miles smh

"God _damnit_," Miles hisses with a heated anger, twisting his fingers into his unkempt hair and letting out a shaky exhale of bitter desperation. He pushes his laptop across the table before dramatically dropping his head into his hands.

He feels curiosity rolling through the static that constantly hums inside his skull. The Walrider hasn't quite mastered the art of language, and instead it communicates in the only way it knows how to; through the static.

Miles runs a hand through his hair before squaring his shoulders as he sits back up. He stares at the palms of his hands for a moment; the stubs of fingers he no longer has. Fingers that Murkoff stole — Murkoff sure knows how to take more than it knows how to give. The corporation isn't very good at giving in general, either; just ask the nanotech demon inhabiting Miles's skull.

If he thinks about the technicality of his relationship with the Walrider for too long, his skin begins to crawl; he feels as though he is nothing but a helpless host bound to carry a parasite for the rest of his life, however short that duration may be.

Miles shakes his head to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts and pulls his laptop back onto his lap. He squints, his tongue poking out from between his lips as he focuses on learning how to type with two missing fingers.

"This is fucking stupid," he mutters with finality. The static in his mind reacts to his anger, distorting his thoughts and hissing just a bit louder. He feels his teeth sharpen in reaction to the falsely-perceived danger and he has to hold his breath as he counts to ten.

"We're not in any danger, idiot," he tells the Walrider with annoyance before looking back at his computer screen, "Well, maybe my career is."

The previously-angry static returns to its curious state with a curiosity so strong that it makes Miles's head hurt.

"It's my fingers," Miles says before his temples start pounding. "It feels like they're still there. It feels like I'm pressing keys that I'm not, so my typing comes out as gibberish. How am I supposed to maintain my reporting career if I can only type chickenshit?" he says with exasperation. "I wish I could say I regret going to Mount Massive. I mean, I got more than a lifetime's share of trauma — and now I'm stuck feeding the _both _of us — but I've got a lot of damning evidence against Murkoff."

He eyes the large stack of files on his coffee table. "Murkoff made a mistake by thinking they had killed me in the Engine chamber."

The waves of static ebb and flow and Miles feels a rush of agreement from the Walrider's end.

Miles thinks, _Maybe we're stronger together._

As quickly as the thoughts came, they went, and Miles refocuses himself. He flexes the fingers he still has and heaves yet another sigh. "Alright. Let's give this another go."

He, as per usual, feels his not-there fingers tap the computer keys and finally, _finally _his anger gets the best of him. He runs a hand down his face forcefully and feels _all _of his fingers brush his cheek—

Miles looks at his hands in shock. Two Walrider-black digits are in place of his severed fingers; two almost-real and very tangible fingers.

"Holy shit," says Miles, and pride flows through the static in waves. "Holy shit," he says again with disbelief.

He wiggles the fingers and then flips off his empty living room before letting out a laugh. "Holy _shit_!" he exclaims again. "Why didn't you do that sooner? You could've saved me a lot of trouble."

The fingers aren't completely solid; if Miles squints hard enough he can see the nanobots buzzing in place, and a few of them swirl around his other fingers in a fog-like pattern. They press his computer's keys with ease and feel just as natural as his other fingers.

"Maybe you aren't _entirely_ terrible," Miles says. Before the onslaught of positive emotions from the Walrider, he adds, "You're still unbearable ninety-nine percent of the time, so don't let it go to your head."

Dissatisfaction rolls through the static and Miles chuckles. "Come on, we can talk more about our fucked up relationship dynamic when we've put Murkoff in the ground. It's going to take a lot of coffee to get me through this one."

A bit of lighthearted dismay lingers in the static, but for a moment, his brain quiets down enough for him to think.

His relationship with the Walrider was complicated.


End file.
